


if you want blood, you got it

by wildaloofrebel



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, they love each other so much I want to punch myself in the face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildaloofrebel/pseuds/wildaloofrebel
Summary: Even the best laid plans go awry, much to Patrick's chagrin. When their days takes a turn, and their night takes another, Patrick does his very best to salvage what's left of one of the most important moments of his life.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 53
Kudos: 160
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	if you want blood, you got it

Through his life, Patrick had lost count of people who had pointed out his lack of spontaneity. They rarely said it outright – the words _lighten up, let loose, have some fun_ , became so commonly spoken they still made a jolt of panic thrum through him. Because the trouble with making yourself relax, have fun, let loose, is the harder you try, the less relaxed you feel, so Patrick spent the first two and half decades of his life trying to be everything everyone else wanted of him, until he landed, just barely in one piece, in Schitt’s Creek, and everything started to become clear.

In more recent months, he had come to embrace his lack of a spontaneous side. Patrick liked planning, was the thing. He liked routine. He liked knowing what he was doing every morning when he got up; he liked waking up next to the love of his life and going to work with him. He liked taking him home whenever their schedules allowed, watching silly romcoms, learning new ways to make David fall apart under his hands, and falling asleep next to him, just to repeat the same the next day. If that was dull, he didn’t worry; being together had made both of them the best versions of themselves they could be, and the two of them had become wholly at ease in their relationship, something they had both been yearning for most of their lives. They had found it, and that could never be boring.

The minute Patrick realised that David made the most mundane of days remarkable, he knew, if he knew nothing else, he was meant to marry him.

So, he planned; he planned the perfect day, the perfect place, the perfect rings, the perfect words, and when the day came, he woke up to torrential rains and gale-force winds. With trees blown over and the streets flooded, Patrick knew that the chances of getting even anywhere near his planned hiking spot would be like getting David up before sunrise. He tried not to let his disappointment make him bitter, if for no other reason than not wanting David to catch on and suspect something. Instead, he settled in and decided to try and enjoy a day inside his cosy, dry apartment with his boyfriend, even if the disappointed sting of his plans falling through made him want to scream into his pillow.

“Do we have anything else to drink?” David called from his spot in the kitchen, where he stood on his tiptoes as he tried to look into the back of Patrick’s cabinets. 

_Yes,_ Patrick thought. _There’s a bottle of champagne in my bag._

“I think there should still be a few bottles of something left from the housewarming,” he said instead, relaxing into the couch cushions. As what could be seen of the sun began to set, they had decided on a movie night under a pile of soft blankets. David picked the first movie, deciding on Notting Hill, with the promise that Patrick could pick the next.

“We only have Stevie’s disgusting whiskey, which I could drink but I don’t really feel like spending the night on the toilet.”

“It’s nice that we feel so comfortable around each other,” Patrick chuckled.

“I know,” he turned on his feet as he spoke, leaning his arms on one of the dining chairs and looking at Patrick coyly with his head on its side. “What are the chances of you running to the store to get a bottle of that full-bodied merlot we just got in?”

“Depends; say full-bodied again.”

“Full-bodied,” he said, shimmying.

“Nice. Not going.”

“But -”

“David, if we couldn’t hike because of the weather, I can’t go to the store because of the weather.”

“Fine,” he lamented, grabbing the bottle of whiskey with a hearty sigh. “You’re lucky I like room temperature whiskey and a tiny TV more than I like sleeping in the same room as my sister.”

“I am.”

“But you should know it’s close.”

“Hasn’t Alexis started talking in her sleep again?”

“Yes. Do you want some, or can I drink from the bottle?” he flopped down on the couch as he asked, endlessly long legs curling up under him.

“You didn’t bring any glasses over, so I think you know the answer,” he kissed David as soon as he was close enough, could never seem to stop himself anymore. Not that he would want to stop. Ever. He was grinning when they parted, and his mood brightened even more as he watched David try to pull the cork out of the bottle with his teeth. 

“I can’t open it,” David said around the bottle. At least, that’s what Patrick thought he said.

“Have you ever heard of hands?” he asked, grinning when David pulled the bottle from his lips and flashed him a look that managed to be almost frighteningly deadpan. Almost. “Because you have one at the end of each arm, and I hear they’re very handy when it comes to opening things.”

“Was ‘handy’ a pun?”

“Happy accident.”

“It’s stuck,” he whined, arms flexing as he pulled at the cork.

“You want me to try?”

“No, I can do it,” he said, voice strained and face tense as he gripped the bottle.

In the seconds that followed, three things happened instantly; Patrick rolled his eyes, as he was want to do every time David’s stubborn streak both exasperated and charmed him; David’s fist slipped from the bottle as he pulled, flying through the air and punching Patrick squarely on the nose; Patrick wailed like a baby.

“Oh, my God,” David shrieked.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, pain pulsing nastily through his face, his vision blurring as tears filled his eyes.

“Oh, my God,” David was on his feet, wild, frantic, arms everywhere at once. Then he fell back onto the couch with a pallid face, then jumped up again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Pass me the tissues,” Patrick said through his hands.

“Here,” David said, his fright tinging his voice as he spoke. He pulled a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table and held them in front of Patrick’s face with a shaky grip. “I’m so sorry.”

“David, I -”

“What do I do?” he asked, interrupting Patrick in his panic. “It’s ice, right? For a nosebleed? Do you have ice?”

“I have frozen peas in the freezer,” he mumbled around his tissues, which were rapidly turning red.

“What?”

“Peas. Freezer,” he grunted, angling his head back to keep the blood away from the blankets now just barely hanging onto his lap.

“Right, right; peas. You stay here.”

“I’ll certainly try,” he said thickly, finding some space in his pain addled brain to be amused by David’s frenzy.

David moved faster at that moment than Patrick had ever seen; off the couch, to the kitchen, and back to Patrick before it had even registered with him that David was moving. He apologised the whole time, an endless run of trembling ‘sorry’ with every step, every second he was away from Patrick’s side. The stream of apology continued until he was straddling Patrick’s thigh carefully and pressing the bag of peas gently to his throbbing nose, pulling a pained wince from him.

“Did I hurt you?” David asked, tears now bright in his eyes.

“A little,” Patrick laughed, immediately regretting it when a pulse of pain shot through his sore nose.

“I meant when I – never mind, I’m sorry,” he said, strained and scared and sweet and so sincere that if he wasn’t in more pain that he could ever remember being in, Patrick would have pulled him into his arms and held him until, well. Until nothing, just held him. “I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” David whined. “I’m sorry. Do you think it’s broken?”

“It’s not broken.”

“You’re not a doctor, Patrick, you don’t know.”

“I’ve had broken bones, this isn’t that,” he said gently.

“What if I broke your fucking face? You have a beautiful face, what if I ruined it?” he lifted the ice pack slowly, investigating his handy work with a sallow expression.

“Baby, I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” he rubbed a bloody hand up and down David’s side, hoping to calm him a little. “Plus, you don’t think I’d look kind of hot with a bent nose? A little more rugged?”

“Are you making jokes? Are you smiling?” David snapped, his voice high with tension. And annoyance, probably. Definitely.

“No. Yes. I’m trying to; it hurts my face,” he explained, his head flopping back against the couch. He looked up at David’s anxious face, still so unfairly, heartbreakingly beautiful it made Patrick ache. Which, of course, could have just been his nose hurting, but it was a pleasant kind of pain David often ignited in him. He groaned, “this isn’t how I thought this day would go.”

“I know, I’m sorry about the hike,” David said, voice a little calmer now that the press of the cold on Patrick’s face had slowed the bleeding. “You planned a lovely day, and it went to total shit, I’m sorry. And for your nose. I’m sorry for all of it,” he said quietly.

“None of it was your fault,” Patrick assured, linking his fingers through David’s and squeezing his hand. “And I got blood on your sweater, so I think we would be even if it was.”

“I will let you get away with that. For now. Until I’m sure that your nose hasn’t broken away from the rest of your skull,” his free hand reached for Patrick as he spoke, resting on his shoulder, thumbing over his jaw absently, comfortingly, the feather-light touches familiar and grounding. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said softly.

“Good,” he breathed.

They were quiet for a few minutes, the rain outside pattering against the windows, filling the room with something surprisingly peaceful. As his thumb ran circles over the skin of Patrick’s neck, David relaxed in his lap, finally calm after a day of disaster. Patrick was taken over by him again then as he looked up at him, as he found himself being most of the time; the light in his eyes, the flush in his face, the turn of his lips filling Patrick with something akin to what he imagined awe felt like. Actually, not something like it, just plain awe.

He let the feeling fill him - taking in David’s presence, David’s mind, his being, his beauty, his whole person - let it fill him to bursting, until he was sure it would seep through his veins, or crack out of his skin, like the sun breaking through the clouds, like thunder splitting the sky, like every heavenly thing Patrick had ever heard preached; overpowering and otherworldly. It filled him until he was buoyant, unbreakable, and floating with it, the feeling right and kismet and completing, until he was needing, needing, needing nothing but David, blinkered with only him in his sights. Aching with it until it hurt so perfectly, made him breathless and giddy, yet steady, solid ground finally under his feet after years of falling through nothing but air.

“Will you marry me?” he asked suddenly, surely, knowing they were some of the only words that were ever truly meant to pass his lips. “I love you, David,” he added because those were the only others.

“What?” David whispered, shock colouring his perfect face.

“Will you marry me?” he asked again, would ask forever if he needed to, his mind whirring to make new plans, new words, to replace the old ones he had practised in the mirror.

“You’re asking me to marry you when you look like an extra at the red wedding,” he said, tears filling his eyes again, spilling onto his cheeks.

“Are you saying no?”

"I - Are you sure?"

"Easiest decision of my life," he said, meaning it so deeply.

“Yes,” he rushed. “Yes; it’s a yes.”

When David kissed, he was so gentle, so careful with him, as he always had been. After their laughter made kissing impossible, David tucked his wet face into Patrick's shoulder, and the skin of his neck became too hard to resist. As he kissed David’s soft skin, light, fleeting touches of his lips, the rain stopped, and everything was warm.

In a moment, Patrick would get up, he would find the rings and slide each one onto David’s fingers, they would drink the champagne, and fall into bed together, each of them piecing the other back together with starving kisses and gentle hands, the air full of hushed words of love, and promises they knew they would forever keep. For now, though, they had all the time in the world, they could just stay.

And that was all the plan Patrick needed.


End file.
